


green good things

by all_these_ghosts



Category: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_these_ghosts/pseuds/all_these_ghosts
Summary: There are no stories where the princess ends up with the witch.





	green good things

****“I’m going with her."

 As soon as the words are out she claps her own hands over her mouth, but it’s too late. They hang in the air for a long moment while every pair of eyes turns to her. Fiyero says her name, half-broken; the Gale Force mutter amongst themselves, and Elphie—

Elphie looks like she’s just seen the sun for the first time in years, and if Glinda had felt doubt for even a moment, it’s gone now.

"Glinda?" her friend whispers.

She shoots one brief look back at Fiyero. He looks completely stunned and she feels just a teensy bit of triumph at the thought that she’s finally surprised him. _If you’ve ever loved either of us_ , she thinks, willing him to act, _even for a second_ —

And right on cue he springs into action, leaping into place between the guards and the pair of witches.

"Don’t shoot!" he cries, "the Wicked Witch has cursed her!", and her heart sings and she’s so glad that no one ever remembers that Fiyero is smarter than he looks.

While the men bumble around distracted, Elphie grabs her by the arm and says low, "We have to go. What’s the top speed on that bubble?"

Glinda shakes her head. "Not fast enough."

They both eye the broom. It doesn’t look like much, propped up in the corner, but Glinda’s all-in now — wobbly broom and all. Elphie sighs. "Then hop on."

As they speed out the window Glinda chances one look back at the chamber, where Fiyero is still surrounded by the Gale Force. She’s caught off balance when the wind buffets them, almost slamming them back against the castle wall. She just grits her teeth and holds on tighter, pressing her face into Elphaba’s dark braid as it comes undone.

It’s no bubble, that’s for sure. The broom is a nauseating way to travel, at least on a windblown night like this, and she shudders to imagine the number of gnats Elphie has swallowed over the last three years.

 _This is it_ , she reminds herself. _This is your choice_. No more bubble, no more ball gowns. Just the woods and the wind and the Wicked Witch.

After they land Glinda has to scurry to keep up. Elphie moves through the forest with practiced ease, gliding over roots and hollows without ever glancing down. For once in her life, Glinda feels graceless in comparison.

The third time she trips, Elphie finally slows down and reaches out. Hands entwined they walk for ages, and Glinda doesn’t complain about her heels even once. Still, her increasingly awkward gait gives her away.

Elphie looks at her, then down at the shoes. "Are you going to be upset if I change those into something more practical?"

Glinda shakes her head mutely. A few chanted words later and Glinda’s wearing boots that look very much like Elphaba’s except that — and this is why she loves her, this is why she’s here — they are bright pink.

A smile twitches at the corner of Elphie’s lips. "Good?"

She can’t help it. She launches herself at Elphaba, throwing her arms around her shoulders and pressing her nose against Elphie’s emerald neck. For a second her friend stiffens, then relaxes again; after a moment her arms wrap around Glinda’s waist. They exhale in tandem, one long, shuddering breath.

"Perfect," Glinda whispers, and really, she could be talking about anything. Probably the boots. But Elphie’s fingers grip her tighter, finding purchase in the folds of her gown, and even though she's just run away from her own engagement party to hike through a creepy forest in the middle of the night, this might be the best Glinda has ever felt.

Elphaba says something quiet then, something like _I knew you would—_ , and Glinda thinks of all the times she didn’t. She sniffles. "I’m your best friend," she finally says. "I always will."

The green girl grins, her lips brushing Glinda’s cheek. "Even if it takes a while."

"I like to think of it as fashionably late," she teases back, and Elphie cackles: that bright, sharp sound she’s missed so desperately.

That laugh marks the end of any possible restraint. It's all instinct and she refuses to give it a second thought: Glinda kisses her.

And Elphie — Elphie kisses _back_. Her lips chapped but soft, her hands pressing Glinda ever closer.

When they part Elphie’s eyes are enormous, her cheeks flushed. _Pink goes good with green_.

"Glinda," she says, her voice rough, and then shakes her head as if to clear it. "What are you—"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Elphie bites her lip. Then, tentative, she leans in again, leaving just a breath between them.

It shouldn’t be this easy, Glinda thinks. Just a few hours ago she was kissing Fiyero, announcing their engagement, proclaiming to the world that all her dreams were coming true. It shouldn’t be this easy to find herself miles away, kissing someone else.

Not just someone else. Elphaba. _Finally_.

Glinda closes the distance, nudging Elphie’s lower lip with hers. Their noses brush, their mouths bump clumsily together. She tastes like the forest at night, dark and earthy, like every green good thing in the world. It occurs to her, distantly, that this might be Elphaba’s first kiss.

It kind of feels like hers, too.

Between kisses they are only shallow breaths and shaking hands, and how has she never noticed how tall Elphie is, or how slender?

How green her eyes are, in this darkness.

Elphaba whispers, "This isn’t a good idea."

Their faces are still so close that every word is a puff of breath on Glinda’s cheek. Glinda brings one hand up to trace her hairline, her jaw, her sharp chin. Beautiful. She’d called her that once, years ago, and Elphie had made a run for it.

She steps away. Elphaba looks bereft already, but she isn’t going far. Just to a bush at the edge of the clearing, where she plucks a white flower and brings it back to tuck behind Elphaba’s ear. Elphie's hand meets hers there, tangled in that impossibly thick black hair. _You're beautiful_ , Glinda thinks at her, and from the flush on Elphie's cheeks she thinks maybe telepathy is her real talent.

"There’s no road map for this," Elphaba says, but Glinda knows her resolve is weakening. She’s good at getting people to see things her way. "There are no stories where the princess ends up with the witch."

Glinda takes her hands, green against her pale. They look good together. Haven’t they always? "I’m not a princess, Elphie," she reminds her. "I didn’t marry the prince."

Elphie stares down at their joined hands too, like the secrets of the universe might be written there. Her thumbs trace Glinda's knuckles and she shivers, undone by the slightest touch. Elphie looks back up, searching. Remembering. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

She'd been so terrified then, standing before the Wizard and Morrible and the guards. What Elphaba was asking had seemed impossible: to give up her name and her birthright and any hope of a normal future, and for what? For a fight no one had ever asked them to join. For a girl she hadn't even wanted to share her _room_ with, much less the rest of her life.

Glinda is older now. She is older and she has seen so many possible futures and she is not, she cannot be afraid anymore. Not of this. Not of her.

"Yes," she says, and it's the first true thing she's said in three years. "I am."


End file.
